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But the appeal of sharing in affection with the man she was falling in love with was too great to ignore.

“There is talk downstairs,” she whispered. “Rumors that you have fallen for a woman.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, blinking hard. “And who is the woman?”

“No one knows. There are merely whispers that someone has finally captured your attention. So much so that you have lost sight of all other women. They say you leave the party games early each night. That you seem almost bored of the forfeits and frivolity.”

“And what do you think of these rumors,” he said, his thumb passing over her upper lip this time.

“I merely wonder if they are true.”

His eyes captured hers. “They are.”

Her breath escaped her lips. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“And who is the woman?”

“Surely you must know,” he replied, his voice husky.

Her heart reached out to his, the knowledge secure in her own mind.

“Then show me,” she breathed, “Oliver.”

Before another moment passed, he seized her face between his hands and pulled her mouth to his. Heat ignited between them, a passionate kiss ensuing as Clara leaned into him, giving her all to sharing in the affection he shared with her.

She opened her eyes for but a second, noting the way his brow furrowed with emotion, and her heart fluttered, refusing to find a regular pattern as their kiss deepened.

Only a few moments passed before his arm slid around her waist, and in another unfathomable movement, he lifted her from atop him, laid her gently on the ice himself, then he was the one who hovered above her.

To have his protective stance over her, his hands at either side of her, guarding her from the rest of the world, was everything she had ever dreamed. For she was reminded once again that with Oliver, she was safe.

Oliver couldn’t share his feelings for the woman enough. Leaning above her, her fingers moved to the nape of his neck, and as they ran through his hair, he was rendered senseless. He breathed in the scent of her. She did not possess the usual floral or fruity fragrance as most women did, but she smelled of fresh linens and lavender water. Of mint and fresh bread. And for reasons he knew had to do with his heart, he’d never experienced anything more appealing.

He released a rumbling sigh at the back of his throat he could no longer keep in. She was utterly satisfying.

Their first kiss had been as much of a shock as it had been a pleasure. This kiss, however, was filled with passion, heat, and almost desperation—a desperation for him to express his affection in the only way he now could, for words had been spoken, tokens had been given, and looks had been exchanged.

Nothing was left but to express his feelings for the woman through his kiss in a way he never had before—a kiss that meant more, shared more, and told more.

He tipped his head to the side, leaning closer toward her, and she responded with arms around his neck that held him in place.

He’d never felt this way for a woman before. Clara Hatfield was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d never knew he needed.

Steady. Strong. Trusting. Willing to take her own life in her hands. Forgiving. He’d turned up at the party to enjoy himself, and now the thought of doing so with anyone but Clara was repulsive. Unappealing. Childish. Clara had made him want to be a better man, and that was more than could be said of anyone else in his life.

His family would love her. He might love her.

But then, what did he know of love?

Confusion muddled his thoughts until their kiss subsided, and he stared down at her before resting his brow to hers.

“I’ve kept you for too long,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, her warm breath on his lips a continued temptation he had to ignore.

With more willpower than he knew he possessed, he stood from his place on the ice and helped her to stand on her one boot and skate.